


Battle at Camlaan

by MonJoh



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: The Twelfth Doctor enters a story from his past. Morgaine, Arthur, Ancelyn, and Mordred enter Earth's dimension. (Sequel to Battlefield.)





	1. Vortigern's Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful betas [bannedfrompencils](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bannedfrompencils/pseuds/bannedfrompencils) and [thinkatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory).

Seven knights sat in a circle around the table at the centre of the control room, looking more like a group conducting a séance than piloting a spaceship. There were no levers, buttons, switches, screens, or displays in the room, although occasionally one of the knights would wave his hand in the air or gesture at one of the others. Otherwise they remained immobile, several with their eyes closed.

A tall man with thick dark curls and a short growth of beard opened deep blue eyes and lifted one arm. His chainmail spacesuit restricted the movement somewhat, indicating their approach to a planet large enough to reach them with its gravitational pull.

“Think you it worked?” the blond young man with a good-humoured face next to him asked.

The blue-eyed man looked at his Knight General. “Verily, it should have.” He stood and moved to the large rectangular stone in which a sword was sheathed, the red stone on its golden hilt pulsing.

“Truly are we in another dimension,” the blond knight breathed. ‘She will not find us here, not without Excalibur.”

“Do not be so certain,” came a woman’s voice, seemingly out of the air itself.

All eyes opened wide and focused on the communication link projected above the round table.

“She is coming!” the Knight General said. His usual smile was replaced by shocked horror.

“She is here,” King Arthur said. His mouth set in a grim line and his hands were tightly clenched by his side.

A bright white light with a sound like an explosion rocked the ship, knocking the knights from their seats and sending their king, who had been standing next to the sword, sprawling on the deck. The ship began to pick up speed, hurtling toward the nearest planet at ever-increasing speed.

***

With its customary wheeze, the TARDIS scanned the area where it would land, determined what disguise would best conceal the transcendental spaceship/time machine in these particular surroundings, and then materialized amongst the trees as a bright blue wooden box marked Police with a flashing light on top.

“What have you got for me this time?” the pilot and sole occupant questioned as the brightness in the central column slowly ceased its up-and-down movement.

The Doctor ignored the array of instruments on the TARDIS control panel which could have told him precisely – and sometimes accurately – the planet, place, and time of his arrival. Instead, he swung open the door to saunter outside. The grey-haired man took a deep breath of forest air. _Definitely Earth_ , the Doctor thought. _England, 5 th century, no 8th century, no definitely 5th_.

Leaving the blue box standing amongst the trees as if it had every right to be there, the Doctor headed toward a lake visible beyond the leafy branches, the tails of his greatcoat flapping in the damp breeze. This area reminded him of a place he had visited on one of the Brigadier’s last adventures with him. That stubborn numbskull had nearly died then, defending his world.

Fallen leaves and broken branches crunched under the Doctor’s black boots and something small scurried away unseen. A flat, grassy plain stretched from the edge of the woods to the shore of a lake. The ground rose sharply at the eastern edge of the grey-blue water. At the top of the steep cliff a stone tower was under construction.

Sounds of men handling heavy stones and an occasional curse drifted down from where the tower was being built at the edge of the rocky crag high above his head, though no one was in sight. On the shoreline below what would be the west wall of the tower, the Doctor picked his way among broken stones, then brandished a small instrument the size of a screwdriver and took a quick scan of the ground, shaking his head at the stupidity of the builders.

He barely had time to duck out of the way when a shout from above warned him of danger. Several large stones which had been part of the west tower wall crashed down to join the broken rocks at his feet where he had pressed himself against the steep embankment, hands splayed against the cliff. Dirt rained down for several more seconds, getting in his eyes and mouth.

“That was close,” the Doctor muttered to himself as he blinked and spat out the dirt. He brushed rock dust from his white shirt and straightened his black overcoat. Glimpses of red lining flashed as he shook out the coat.

All sounds of work on the tower had stopped though the shouting and cursing had intensified. The Doctor spotted a well-worn path leading up the cliff to the construction site and strode in that direction.

At the end of the steep path was a plateau with a view of the lake below. On three sides of a grassy area near the edge rose sturdy stone walls, half-built. Workers in rough clothing of undyed wool stood in small groups, muttering to themselves and occasionally pointing toward the gaping hole that used to be a fourth wall. They took no notice of the strangely-dressed grey-haired man who sauntered around as he examined the partially-built tower and collapsed west wall. He peered over the edge where the ground was soft and small stones continued to bounce down the cliff face with tiny showers of dirt.

“You there!” came a shout.

The Doctor looked up to see a man approaching. He had lank brown hair and a ginger beard that doubled the size of his head. His woolen shirt was dyed a bright blue and stretched tightly across his middle.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously.

“Someone passing through,” the Doctor replied with equal lack of courtesy in the heavily accented English this regeneration had adopted. “Who are you?”

The bearded man frowned at the visitor’s haughty tone. “I know every man in the king’s party and you are not one of them. You will declare yourself.”

“Will I?” The Doctor eyed the fat man.

His clean hands and haughty demeanour marked him as someone in charge of the peasant workers who now regarded the confrontation with more interest than the collapsed wall.

With a glare, the man shouted to the nearest group of stonemasons who had left off their conversation to gawk at the quarrel. “Since you have nothing better to do, you will escort this man to Lord Sagramour’s tent.” Then the haughty man with the ginger beard strode away.

Three burly workers surrounded the Doctor to ensure he followed. Shrugging, the Doctor went along, curious to see what would happen next.

The tent they made their way toward rested in the middle of an encampment set back from the construction site. Its walls were striped white and gold-coloured cloth and a yellow pennant with a white dragon fluttered from the highest point. The luxury, for the time and place, of the central temporary structure suggested it housed a personage of importance.

Inside the tent, the Doctor’s escort bowed his head until his ginger beard touched his protruding stomach. “My lord.”

A silver-haired man looked around at their entrance. He wore a crisp white linen shirt with deep blue trousers and a clasp in the shape of a dragonfly with a green jewel for its eye held a dark blue cloak around his shoulders. A noble certainly, but not royalty. The Doctor’s “captor” had mentioned a king’s party so this new interrogator would likely be one of the higher-ups in service to said king.

The Doctor ran through his memories of 5th century English kings, but, without more clues to the exact time and place, it was impossible to determine with certainty who the current ruler of this area was. Besides, historical records for the time were woefully sparse and the oral history had been lost in succeeding centuries. King Arthur was said to rule Britain about this time, if such a monarch had ever existed. The warrior who had brought Excalibur to Earth through a rip in space and time may never have sat on a throne, let alone been the Once and Future King of legend who would return when he was needed. History was written by the victors and subject to certain embellishments in favour of the storytellers.

The workers who had escorted the Doctor shuffled their feet and stared at the floor, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of the richly-dressed man who was probably a royal courtier.

“You should dismiss these poor men so we can get acquainted,” the Doctor suggested.

The nobleman’s eyes flashed at the imperious tone and he left off his appraisal of the Doctor’s odd clothing to look directly into his eyes.

“This man was poking around the tower site,” the head stonemason asserted, puffing out his chest so it protruded nearly as far as his stomach. “Attempting to cast another incantation to interfere with the king’s fortifications I have no doubt.”

“To what?” the Doctor asked.

Both his accuser and the noble ignored him.

“What grounds do you have for such a claim?” questioned the noble, eyeing the fat stonemason thoughtfully.

“I saw him near the lake below,” the man with the ginger beard said. “He waved his magic wand and then the wall collapsed.”

“Magic wand!” The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver. “I’ll have you know this is a scientific instrument capable of opening doors, locking and unlocking just about anything not wooden, amplifying an X-ray machine, identifying substances, revealing disguises, welding, soldering, scanning, computing, summoning …” The Doctor paused. “Okay, magic wand.”

“And he cannot identify himself,” the man finished ominously without a glance in the strange visitor’s direction.

Those words seemed to hold special significance for Lord Sagramour. He regarded the Doctor closely as he approached. “I am personally familiar with every one of the king’s nobles and their households, and clearly you are not a peasant. Do you have any token to attest to your birth?”

The Doctor reached into his inner pocket and produced a small square of what would eventually be called paper to hold up for inspection.

The nobleman looked closely. “This indicates that you are a prince and your mother is the daughter of the king of South Wales, a close ally of our High King.”

“Does it?” the Doctor inquired as he turned the psychic paper to have a look at it himself.

“Yet it says nothing of a father. Are you able to name your father?”

“There is no possibility that you know my father or that his name would have any meaning for you.”

The head stonemason and Sagramour exchanged a look, then the nobleman nodded. “I’ll take him to the king.”

The bearded fat man bowed again. “Yes, my lord.”

Sagramour led the way further into the large tent, lifting a flap which separated the entry from an inner chamber. The inner circle of the large tent was likely where the current king of this area held court, perhaps the High King the nobleman had referred to. Could it be …

The Doctor followed Sagramour through the flap, letting it fall back into the face of the fat stonemason who scowled and yanked it aside again.

The floor of the tent’s inner room was covered with an assortment of colourful rugs. Gold thread stitched into the white cloth walls glittered in the light of numerous candles which illuminated the interior and created a smoky haze at the tent’s peak. A wooden platform had been constructed on which a man with a long grey-black beard and a woman in a low-cut gown were seated in chairs with tall wooden backs painted white. The head of a dragon done in gold paint curved down one arm of the man’s chair and its spiked tail lay down the other.

A chain of thick silver links hung around the man’s neck supporting a pendant with a red gem the size of his pinky. Each finger of both his hands had at least two jewelled rings. A puckered, white scar ran from the man’s forehead to his cheek and another seemingly newer scar crossed his face and disappeared into his black beard. The woman was blonde and buxom, also dressed richly but her shoulders continually twitched under the silk of her green gown. Her neck and ears were likewise adorned with jewellery, most of the gems a bright green, and she wore several rings.

“Sire.” Lord Sagramour bowed to the man on the platform.

A dozen other men dressed in dark-coloured robes stood behind the throne, deep in agitated conversation. They barely glanced at the recent arrivals.

“This man was found at the site of the latest collapse,” Sagramour announced loudly. “And he is unable to satisfactorily name his lineage.”

The dark-robed men ceased their heated conversation and stared intently at the Doctor. The queen caught her breath. Thick grey brows lowered over the king’s sharp brown eyes, stretching the white scar.

So parts of the story were true; an old Earth legend about a tower that would not stand, a king looking for a scapegoat, and a boy with no father. Although in this case “boy” would be a stretch even for a Timelord. The Doctor remembered a few other tidbits about this story, too, and his own past. Which could be the future. He had looked forward to this for a very long time.

The king looked contemplatively at the strangely-clothed visitor. “What is your name?”

Smiling, the Doctor announced, “Merlin.”

“Is it true you have no father?” the king questioned.

“I don’t have one now,” the Doctor said. “Of course I had a father, but that was longer ago than you can imagine, or from a linear point of view it hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t think we want to get into explanations of solar systems and galaxies when your people are figuring out that this little island is on a tiny round planet that orbits a yellow sun.”

The dark-robed men exchanged glances.

“He is mad,” one whispered.

“That makes no difference,” another whispered back.

The king was not distracted by their conversation or the Doctor’s chatter, his sharp gaze fixed on the strange visitor’s face with a calculating expression. Well, the man could not have held power this long without knowing how to manipulate unforeseen events in his own favour, although his alliance with the Saxons had proved to be problematic.

“You are King Vortigern and this is your lovely wife, Rowena,” the Doctor said, waving his hands toward each in turn. No one was surprised the stranger had correctly deduced such an obvious fact. “And if you want the truth about why your tower wall keeps collapsing you need look no further than the complete incompetence of your builder.” The Doctor turned to the fat man in the blue shirt who had escorted him here, the one most responsible for the inept geological survey.

“Sire!” The head stonemason’s face turned purple under his ginger beard.

The king waved him to silence and kept his eyes fixed on the Doctor.

“Anyone foolish enough to build on unstable ground shouldn’t be given the responsibility of constructing so much as a tent.” The Doctor waved his arms at the dark-robed men ranged around the king’s throne. “And yes, I know exactly what these charlatans have been spouting about sacrificing a boy with no father and sprinkling his blood on the foundation to make the tower stand and frankly that ranks as a new level of stupidity.”

The men glared angrily but did not speak.

“Let me tell you that as long as it would take to kill me so I stayed dead, that would be nothing to the dangers of spilling Timelord blood on this planet. You would have several unwanted visitors in short order and I can assure you they will not be as pleasant to deal with as I am.”

At the implied threat, King Vortigern’s eyes narrowed.

The Doctor paused to let the king think. The monarch needed to reassure his men of his continued strength and building this tower was the demonstration of that strength. If his superstitious followers would be satisfied with a human sacrifice it was nothing to Vortigern to have a stranger killed. But if the High King could be convinced he would be better off with the Doctor as an ally, he would take it. Vortigern’s men were losing faith and the threat of another assault either by those who would challenge his claim to the kingship or by his own uneasy allies, the Saxons, hung darkly over all their heads.

“How do we make the walls of the tower stand firm?” the king questioned.

“Fire this idiot builder who can’t tell solid ground from a geological nightmare and have the men do what I say,” the Doctor said.

Incensed, the fat man who had accosted the Doctor looked around to see if anyone was paying this crazy person the slightest attention. The dark-robed men were clearly furious but waited in silence for their ruler’s decision.

Lord Sagramour took his cue from King Vortigern’s nod. “You are dismissed,” he told the stonemason. “Merlin,” he addressed the Doctor. “I will take you to the workers and you can give them your instructions.”

“Well, then.” The Doctor rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

***

The Doctor gave final instructions to the men digging the conduit which would drain the water from the underground pool into the nearby lake. “Make certain you line the tunnel with concrete.”

The workers looked at each other in confusion. After three days of carrying out the Doctor’s orders, the peasant workers had grown accustomed to his odd speech, exaggerated hand gestures, single-minded disregard of nobles and peasants alike, and incomprehensible speeches. Most of what the strange man said they had managed to understand and carry out but this was a word they had never heard. “What is kongkreet?” one dared to ask.

“Really, do I have to do every little thing myself?” the Doctor said. “Idiots and fools building this tower; it’s a wonder you got any of the walls to stand this long.”

Lord Sagramour approached, wearing his white linen shirt beneath a red coat and the same dark blue cloak with dragonfly clasp. “Merlin, the king requests your presence.”

“Fine,” the Doctor agreed.

The nobleman frowned but did not reprimand the stranger for treating a royal command as if it were a request he could choose to grant or not. He simply turned and led the way to the royal tent without a glance behind to see that the Doctor followed.

In truth, the Doctor was curious to see Vortigern’s reaction to their progress. The king was a warrior, not an engineer. He would probably be happy as long as his men were occupied and he kept up appearances that the tower building was continuing to a plan.

As usual, King Vortigern was in his temporary throne room, among his courtiers, his lips compressed and lines of strain around his eyes and mouth which made the white scar tissue even whiter. Queen Rowena, this time, was absent.

“As Merlin said, they found an underground pool of water below the West tower wall,” Lord Sagramour said to the king. “He instructed the men to dig a conduit to drain the water into the lake.”

“Then let them continue.” Vortigern gestured for the Doctor to approach.

“Merlin,” the king said, “What do you expect to find at the bottom of this pool after it is drained?”

“Dragons,” the Doctor said.

All other conversations ceased and everyone’s eyes fixed on the stranger who called himself Merlin. The king’s thick grey brows drew together and he glanced around the tent at all those watching and listening to his conversation with the sorcerer.

Vortigern turned his attention to Lord Sagramour. “Has there been any sign of dragons?”

Lord Sagramour was staring open-mouthed at the Doctor. He snapped his gaze to the king. “No, Sire.”

The king looked back at the Doctor.

One more day, two at most, by the sonic’s calculation and the pool would be entirely drained. “Keep digging,” the Timelord said.

***

Two days later, King Vortigern himself was at the construction site along with his entire court. At the western edge of the clearing where the planned tower would stand, beside a deep hole with a tunnel leading all the way to the lakeshore, a temporary stand had been set up for the king’s white throne. Its painted gold dragon glittered in the bright sunshine. Queen Rowena was seated on the smaller throne beside her husband.

Crowded around the stand were the king’s nobles, behind them several well-dressed men in black robes, and furthest back were the workers who had laboured on the wall and then the concrete-lined tunnel. All were on hand to see if Merlin’s prediction would be true, or whether he was a charlatan who would be sacrificed after all and his blood sprinkled on the foundations. There were various disagreements as to which would make a better show: a fight between live dragons or an execution.

A thin man with mousy brown hair approached King Vortigern. His brown curls were stuck to his forehead and cheeks and his hand shook as he carried a sack to the royal platform.

“What did you find at the bottom of the pool?” the king demanded.

“Just this,” answered the stonemason, dumping two large stones onto the ground.

One was the colour of rusty iron, the other a milky quartz.

“Not dragons.” King Vortigern looked at the Doctor.

 _Timing is everything_. The Doctor took out the sonic screwdriver; hopefully his calculations were not out by more than a few minutes. He needed to hold their attention until the right moment. “Not dragons, but symbolic of dragons: a red one and a white one.”

Vortigern glanced at the stones, then turned his sharp gaze back to the Doctor. One of the black-robed advisers smiled and gestured to a soldier wearing a helmet that covered his face and carrying a sword that was exceptionally long.

“The red dragon is you.” The Doctor pointed to the king. “The white dragon is the Saxons you’re going to keep from overrunning this land.”

The queen scowled and sat straighter as did several guards behind her with white dragon sigils stitched on their tunics.

The Doctor paused at his error. “Wrong story.” He faced the crowd around the king and lifted his hands into the air as if making a prophecy. “Vortigern is the white dragon. He used Constans as a puppet king and ruled through him until finally killing him, became High King of the Britons, invited the Saxons to help him defeat the Scots and the Picts – that was a mistake.” There were several indrawn breaths of outrage which the Doctor ignored. “Married a Saxon woman – don’t know how that worked out, none of my business – and is now attempting to hold onto his crown by building a fortress here.” The Doctor paused for dramatic effect, glancing around at his audience.

Nothing he had said to this point was news to the black-robed wizards or the courtiers. The faceless soldier with the long sword cracked his knuckles.

With a flourish the Doctor raised his eyes to the sky and continued. “Vortigern will be killed by Ambrosius, the red dragon, who conquers the Saxons and is then crowned High King and who landed in Devon,” the Doctor quickly consulted the calculation his sonic screwdriver was running, “two days ago.”

This last piece of news was greeted with complete silence from everyone within hearing. For an interminable length of time the grey-haired king regarded the Doctor narrowly.

Finally Vortigern spoke. “So besides being a sorcerer you are a prophet as well. You would do better to prophesy what I want to hear.”

At that moment a bright light streaked across the sky and the Doctor smiled. His calculations had not been off by much after all. The interdimensional ship heading toward them had ripped a hole in the fabric of time and space, allowing Morgaine of the Fey to cross the boundaries which divide universes and step sideways in time. And the Doctor would be here to stop her from using that rip to extend her tyranny to this world. Perhaps this time he could reach her nobility and sense of honour before it came to battle between them; perhaps he could avert the tragedy ahead. Morgaine was capable of ruthless conquest, but she had also used her power to heal a blind man as payment for a few drinks and she respected those who were honourable according to her code.

The Doctor raised his hands skyward as if he had summoned the unusual light, allowing the red lining of his cape to show.

The crowd’s eyes followed the path of the strange object in the sky. There were gasps as it came closer and closer, growing bigger and bigger. It glowed red like metal heated in a forge and made a sound between a screech and a whistle which increased in volume until it landed on the lakeshore with a resounding boom and enough force to bury itself in the soft earth. A plume of dirt sprayed into the air. Several of the courtiers ran for safety.

“I’ll go talk to the dragon, shall I?” the Doctor announced before taking the path which led down to the lake.


	2. Morgaine

A cloud of dust hung in the air as the Doctor approached the lakeshore. He had correctly remembered the ship would land and the concrete tunnel led directly to the spot where the craft had come to rest, although both would be underwater in a few centuries’ time.

The red glow of the ship’s sides was fading but a heat shimmer still encased the bright metal. An interdimensional ship was a nearly impossible thing and the Doctor regretted not having been able to examine it more closely when he was last on board. Before he could begin his analysis, a hatch opened.

The section of smooth outer hull swung up without discernible workings of any kind: mechanical, electrical, or otherwise. A tall man exited the ship dressed in chainmail with a blue cloak on his shoulders and a silver helmet on his dark-haired head. He was followed by a similarly-dressed blond knight carrying his own helmet which reflected flashes of sunlight from its polished surface. Both were armed with sheathed swords and holstered laser guns.

When the blond knight’s eyes fell on the Doctor, he drew his sword and pointed it at the grey-haired man’s throat, putting himself between the stranger and his king.

“Ancelyn, always a pleasure,” the Doctor said. “You must be King Arthur.” He appraised the tall man who wore a sword with a red jewel in its hilt. “That looks familiar.”

Already the sky above began to cloud over and the air took on a damp smell. The Doctor whipped out his sonic and scanned the sword, checked the results, then moved past both men to the ship and began taking readings. Several centuries of software upgrades were not giving him much more information than he had had before.

Ancelyn looked to his liege for instruction, uncertain how to react.

Four more knights stepped out of the damaged ship followed by one who was limping. His leg showed an ugly gash which had soaked his trouser leg dark reddish brown. The wounded man was bare-headed but the other four wore silver helms which concealed their faces. They paused and looked from King Arthur to the Doctor while their fellow sank to the ground next to the ship, one hand on his holstered laser.

“Who art you and whatsoever magic be that?” Arthur asked the Doctor.

“It’s not a magic, it’s a highly …” the Doctor began, “oh, never mind.” He checked the last reading on the ship and slipped the sonic back into his coat pocket. “Your ship is dysfunctional, what brought it down? Other than magic?”

“We were vanquished by Morgaine of the Fey who seeks to reclaim her lost weapon.” Arthur laid a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“You stole it and Morgaine wants it back?” the Doctor asked.

“It is a mighty weapon and a fine sword. E’en now Queen Morgaine devoutly wishes to lay her hand once more on the sword which was lost to her.”

“Well give it back,” the Doctor said. Time could be re-written. Give her the sword, send her back to conquer the worlds of her own dimension and never wreak havoc in this one, never cost Arthur his life.

“Alas, I cannot. But I will wield it with honour and in victory.” Arthur set his shoulders back, one hand grasping Excalibur’s hilt.

The Doctor’s bushy grey brows drew together. “There is no honour in battle, only loss.”

Arthur clapped a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “You are right, my friend, honour is in a fight well-fought, regardless of who the victor may be. But whosoever wields Excalibur shall vanquish any enemy he faces in battle. Morgaine conquered the Destroyer itself with this blade.”

“What if the enemy had a sword like that? What if there were two of them?”

Ancelyn frowned at the Doctor’s words. “I have heard tell that in fact Morgaine is in possession of a backup copy of this mighty blade, but Arthur shall face down the oppressor and win to victory in the end.”

A shout of outrage came to their ears where they stood next to the ship’s silver bulk on the lakeshore. At the bottom of the path that led to the half-built tower on the clifftop, Lord Sagramour stood flanked by a dozen soldiers wearing Vortigern’s white dragon sigil, pointing toward the Doctor.

“Merlin consorts with the dragon and its familiars. As he prophesied, they are here to take arms against our rightful ruler and aid Ambrosius in his uprising. They are enemies of King Vortigern.” Sagramour drew his sword and the soldiers with him followed suit.

“Merlin, be it?” Arthur said with a glance at the Doctor. “The battle is joined!”

Arthur drew the red-jeweled sword and at his action Ancelyn raised his own blade with a shout. The other four knights clasped their swords.

Sagramour and his soldiers raced forward and Arthur and his knights ran to meet them on the grassy area between the lake and the steep bank. Their booted feet weaved expertly among the fallen stones.

“Idiots!” the Doctor shouted.

Cries of pain replaced the shouts when the two groups met in a clash of metal blades cutting through chainmail and human flesh. In minutes, Arthur and Ancelyn together cut down four of their opponents while only one of Arthur’s knights lay unmoving on the grass.

The knight with the wounded leg who had been left lying on the ground drew his laser pistol. The Doctor snatched it from his hand, then pointed it toward one of the largest rocks which lay in the grass not far from the area of combat. He fired once and the stone exploded, sending bits of rock flying in all directions and knocking down a few of the soldiers. The sound drowned out the noise of battle and captured the attention of those combatants who remained standing.

“Stop!” The Doctor waved both hands in the air.

Shocked at the sight and sound of the explosion, Sagramour and his men looked at him in horror.

“Sorcery!” one of them shouted.

“We cannot fight Merlin’s dark arts.”

Sagramour waved his sword in the air with his right arm, his left bloody. “Retreat!”

Vortigern’s men turned and ran back toward the steep path up the cliff side leaving the dead where they had fallen.

Arthur frowned back at the Doctor. “You must practice your aim, for your shot brought down no enemy but a chunk of stone.”

“I hate guns.” The Doctor drew his sonic and hooked it into the side charging port to disable the laser in his hand. He threw the now-harmless chunk of plastic and metal to the ground.

The sky had darkened considerably and a drop of rain hit the gun and sizzled out of existence. The Doctor felt the next raindrop on his cheek.

At the same moment, one of Arthur’s knights was struck by a laser beam which had come from the direction opposite where Vortigern’s men had just disappeared from sight.

Ancelyn’s eyes went past the Doctor and widened before they narrowed. “Mordred.”

In the wooded area on the far side of the clearing, another knight stood with sword and laser pistol. He wore chainmail dyed black but no helmet on his dark hair; his chin was clean-shaven with a trimmed black mustache on his upper lip. Several more shots from the knights behind the black-garbed Mordred raked the area around Arthur and his companions causing small white explosions wherever the beams struck.

“Oh, for,” the Doctor muttered.

Arthur, Ancelyn, and two of their knights took cover behind the largest fallen stones and returned fire, exchanging beams of light with Mordred’s forces across the field. Stones exploded and sprays of dirt and grass were thrown higher than a man’s height. Mordred ducked behind the disabled spaceship while his men held off Arthur’s men. Two of his own knights and one of Arthur’s had fallen, smoking holes cut through their chest armour.

Rain began falling in earnest, making it hard for the combatants to see each other.

The Doctor adjusted a setting on his sonic and aimed it at the grass between the two opposing groups of laser-armed knights. A wall of flame sprang up, obscuring Arthur’s group from Mordred, his soldiers, the Doctor, and the injured knight still on the ground beside the spaceship. The firing stopped.

The rain intensified, further veiling the field. Water dripped from the Doctor’s hair into his eyes and he blinked it away.

Mordred raised one arm to shield himself from the fire and keep the rain from his eyes. He turned to look closely at the Doctor.

“Whoever you be, peasant, you shall pay the penalty for aiding the enemies of the deathless, ageless, immortal Morgaine.” Mordred raised his laser to point at the Doctor’s chest.

“I hate guns,” the Doctor said.

Mordred waved his troops forward and gestured to the barely-visible field where their adversaries had been. Their silver helmets kept the rain from their eyes, but they were back in moments to advise Mordred that Arthur and his knights had disappeared and there were no tracks to indicate where they had gone.

The worst of the rainstorm left with them, fading to a drizzle. Mordred gestured at the Doctor and two of his soldiers moved to stand guard as Mordred holstered his laser. The knight who had been injured in the ship’s crash was relieved of his sword and dragged to his feet by two more soldiers, faces invisible behind their silver helmets.

“Where goest Arthur with the sword he stole? Where be his allies?” Mordred demanded.

The knight stared back defiantly.

Mordred turned to the Doctor who stood flanked by knights encased in silver mail, both with swords drawn.

“Merlin, they called you.” Mordred put his hands on his hips and stared down his prisoner. “It would wise for you to speak truthfully in answer to my query: where has Arthur gone?”

“Camelot?”

Mordred smiled. “Where be this Camelot?”

“Well now, that’s the thing,” the Doctor said. “No one actually knows. Rumours put it in the south of Britain or in the north, possibly in France, if it existed at all, which at this point is pure speculation.”

The dark-haired man frowned and one of the Doctor’s guards prodded him with his swordpoint.

“Ouch.” The Doctor shoved the sword away.

The soldier swung it right back.

“You will not display such insolence to my lady mother, Morgaine of the Fey.”

Mordred gestured at two of his knights to enter the stranded spaceship. Between them, they dragged out a rectangular block of what appeared to be stone the size of a small table. The two men struggled to carry the rock to Mordred, finally dropping it onto the wet grass with a grunt. They both wiped at sweat which trickled from beneath their silver helmets.

Mordred drew the sword he carried which had a red jewel in its hilt like Arthur’s and lifted it above his head.

“This we make the meeting place between two worlds, two realities, two universes.”

One of the Doctor’s guards and one of those supporting Arthur’s knight joined the two who had carried out the stone. Each planted his own sword blade-first into the soft dirt an arm’s length from the rock making a rough circle around the stone, then all four stepped back and the guards resumed their positions.

Mordred walked up to the stone. “By this sword I part the curtain of night.”

A bright light ran from planted sword to planted sword to illuminate the stone in its centre.

“Across the abyss life calls to life, biomass to biomass, energy to energy, to Avalon I summon thee from beyond the confines of this universe!”

Cackling evilly, Mordred brought his sword down so the point slid smoothly into a slot on top of the rock. Smoke exploded upward. The red jewel lit up, beginning to flash. His laughter increased in volume.

“Laughing. I hate the laughing,” the Doctor muttered.

When the ring of light around the stone expanded to encompass the red jewel in the sword’s hilt, it began to pulse and Mordred stepped back. The ground shook.

In the middle of the square of light, a woman materialized. She was dressed in copper-coloured skirted armour that hugged her body and rippled and moved like cloth and on her long, red hair was a heavy copper crown with four tall points. She wore no other jewellery. Her cloak was made of a shiny material that reflected the luminescence around her. Her hands were uplifted with long, pointed nails at the ends of her fingers.

When she had fully entered the dimension, she turned to her son. He dropped to his knees.

“What is this place, Mordred?”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “A grey place full of savages.”

“How goes the day?” Morgaine’s tone, like her simple crown, indicated casual command. “Have you Arthur?”

Mordred’s lips compressed. “No, Mother. The traitor has for the time escaped your righteous wrath, but two of his accomplices await you.” He stood and turned slightly.

Morgaine’s eyes fell on the knight who was supported by two of his captors. She nodded at one of the guards who yanked off the knight’s silver helmet.

“Lancelot,” she said. “Rest here and tell me, where has Arthur gone?”

Morgaine gestured again and the guards let go of the knight’s arms but he refused to fall, bracing himself on his good leg and straightening to meet Morgaine’s eyes.

“A true warrior.” The queen gave him a nod of respect, then she reached out a hand in his direction.

A pained look crumpled Lancelot’s face and his entire body twitched. Slowly his knees bent until he was kneeling before her outstretched hand.

“Where is Arthur?” Morgaine’s voice echoed the power her hand wielded.

He twisted his neck painfully to look up at her. He gasped in a breath. “You will not find him.”

She shook her head sadly. Then she stepped closer and laid the long, pointed nails of her right hand on his forehead. He screamed. When she stepped back, Lancelot slumped to the ground.

“Morgaine!” the Doctor shouted.

“He did not have the knowledge I sought.” Morgaine looked at the knight prostrate on the ground. “He will die honourably.” She stretched out a hand and a beam of energy shot from her fingertips to engulf the knight.

“No.” Before the Doctor could take one step, his guards pressed their blades to his sides.

When the light faded there was only a small mound of ash where Lancelot’s body had lain.

As always, the Doctor channelled his horror into resolve as Morgaine faced him.

Her eyes moved up and down his white-collared shirt, black vest, black coat, black pants, and boots. “You are not dressed as a warrior.” The queen’s copper-coloured eyebrows rose toward the crown on her high forehead. “Yet you have the bearing of one.”

The Doctor stared her down.

“What are you called?” There was a note of curiosity in Morgaine’s commanding tone.

He stepped closer to her, fists clenched at his sides, ignoring the swords pressed to his side. “Leave this world.”

Mordred frowned. “They called him Merlin, Mother.” He turned to the Doctor. “Kneel before the Queen, peasant dog.”

“If you leave this world now you will escape my wrath,” the Doctor said, ignoring the blades poking his sides.

“I intend to reclaim that which is rightfully mine. Then I will decide whether this world is worthy of conquest.” Morgaine stretched her long-fingered hand in the Doctor’s direction.

The force of her attempt to make him kneel coursed through his body, churning his stomach and sending sharp pains through his knees. He felt drops of sweat form across his brow and between his shoulder blades, but he remained standing.

Morgaine’s eyes widened. She lowered her hand. “You do not intend to willingly give me the knowledge I seek, either, dost you?”

The queen moved closer to him and laid her long, pointed fingernails on the Doctor’s head. A blinding flash exploded behind his eyeballs and he thought he cried out.

Morgaine’s arm fell to her side and she stumbled backward, one hand going to her right temple beneath the crown.

“Mother?” Mordred asked with concern.

She stared at the Doctor, her face pale. Slowly she regained her composure and stood straight. “He does not know Arthur’s whereabouts but he has seen the sword, more than once. He may be called Merlin but he has had many faces and many names and goes where he wills.” She smiled. “This savage world is indeed worthy of conquest. I will take this world and give my son, Mordred, dominion over Earth.”

Mordred drew in his breath and set his shoulders back.

“I go to ready our army. Mordred, you remain here with your soldiers.”

“Arthur still hath the sword and I know not his whereabouts.” Mordred’s hand lifted slightly in Morgaine’s direction before he clenched his fist and brought it back to his side.

“Set your mind at rest, Son. If you hold his accomplice long enough, he will be make an appearance. He will not allow an ally to suffer on his behalf.”

A look of worry rather than relief crossed the dark-haired man’s face, but Morgaine had already turned her back on him.

“Morgaine.” Spots no longer danced in front of his eyes but the Doctor felt a dull throb at each point where the queen’s fingers had touched his forehead.

She faced him and raised one copper eyebrow without speaking.

“You are not welcome here. Return to your own dimension and leave this world alone.”

“Merlin, you have many names, some of which strike terror into hearts across many worlds. But I am the SunKiller, Battlequeen of the Strax, Dominator of the Thirteen Worlds; do not stand against me.” With those words the warrior queen stepped into the square of light around the sword in the stone and vanished.

After she was gone, Mordred retrieved his sword. The lights faded and his knights reclaimed and sheathed their own swords.

The looked to Mordred for orders but before he could speak, a beam of white light flashed on the chest of one of the Doctor’s guards. He grunted and fell to the ground.

Battle cries arose from five throats as Arthur and his knights charged toward Mordred and his soldiers, swords drawn. With a cry of their own, the five remaining warriors rushed to meet them and the two groups came together with a clash of metal swords and grunts of pain. Ancelyn crossed blades with two enemies while Arthur went straight for Mordred who raised his own red-jewelled sword in defence.

In short order all five of Mordred’s soldiers and three of Arthur’s lay dead or wounded. Arthur stood with his blade pressed to Mordred’s throat, the jewel in the hilt reflecting a spot of red onto his chin.

“Stop!”

Ancelyn, Arthur, and Mordred looked at the Doctor in surprise. None of them moved, staring at the livid, grey-haired, unarmed man.

“There has been more than enough killing today.”

The Doctor shoved Arthur and Mordred apart and both fell back a step, still staring.

Ancelyn looked on without moving.

“You,” the Doctor pointed at Mordred, “leave now. Go back to your mother. You two…” The Doctor’s thick grey brows drew together. Where could they go? Their ship was disabled.

A smile broke across Arthur’s face. “We will join forces and toast our victories past and yet to come.”

“There is nothing to celebrate about killing,” the Doctor said. The screams that he locked inside turned his tone to ice.

“A battle fought bravely and well is to be honoured,” Ancelyn said.

Arthur lowered his sword and bowed slightly to Mordred. “We will meet again.”

Mordred’s sword had been knocked from his hand. Slowly, with his eyes fixed on Arthur, he bent to retrieve the weapon and sheathed it.

“Til next time,” Mordred said before he glanced once more at the Doctor and made his retreat.

Arthur and Ancelyn waited until he disappeared into the trees which bordered the grassy area around the lake before they cleaned and sheathed their own swords.

“We must honour the dead, then can we share meat and mead,” Ancelyn said to the Doctor.

Before he could refuse to remain in the company of the two soldiers, a renewed shouting came from the path up the steep hill to King Vortigern’s camp. A large group of the king’s soldiers and Saxon warriors came charging toward the three men. No. Not another battle, not today.

He drew the sonic and aimed at the block of stone Mordred’s soldiers had removed from Arthur’s spaceship. Another wall of fire flared up, this time completely obscuring the oncoming warriors from the three by the ship and preventing Arthur and Ancelyn from meeting the attack.

A crossbow bolt whizzed past the Doctor’s ear as he took Ancelyn and Arthur each by the arm and sprinted for the woodlands at the far edge of the grassy area around the lake. Another quarrel thudded into a tree trunk in front of them as they reached the forest cover. Ancelyn tossed a silver canister with a flashing red light in the direction of the enemy soldiers. An explosion sent up a fountain of dirt and grass and no further shots chased them into the forest.

The three of them took cover deep in the wooded area. Ancelyn had another silver canister in hand, waiting for sounds of pursuit.

In the moment of stillness, Arthur looked at the Doctor. “What of Lancelot?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Morgaine killed him.”

“Did he die bravely?”

“Yes, but he’s still dead.” The Doctor eyed the red-jeweled sword. “That leaves only you two against Mordred and Morgaine and their army. Give it back to her.”

“I cannot.” Arthur looked down at the blade in his hand, slowly turning the hilt to examine it. Instead of victory-hungry eagerness his tone indicated regret.

The Doctor frowned and moved close enough to face him down. “You have involved Earth in a war which does not even belong to this dimension. You must give it back.”

The tall man cocked his head. “Should I do as you ask, what dost you believe Morgaine would do with such a weapon?”

“The same thing she would do without it but with less bloodshed in this world.”

Arthur’s dark curls brushed the edges of his beard as he shook his head. “It is the source of her power, the seed of her victories, the harbinger of doom for those who stand against her.”

“Her son has a duplicate copy,” the Doctor reminded him.

“Ah, but it is Excalibur she believes in. She will not rest nor continue her plan of conquest in my world while I have this sword.”

“As long as you have it here, you put this world and this entire dimension in danger.” His jaw clenched as he gestured around them at the planet hurtling through space in a galaxy spinning and stretching in an ever-expanding universe. “I cannot allow you to keep it.”

Arthur gave the Doctor a lopsided smile. “But you see, my people are Morgaine’s next target. I cannot allow her to regain the weapon which will assure her victory and their defeat, even if it means I can never return.”

A pang of sympathy for the expatriated king who would never see his homeland again choked some of the Doctor’s anger.

“Come.” King Arthur and Ancelyn moved quickly further into the woods, Arthur with a hand clasped on the red jeweled hilt of Excalibur. The Doctor looked back in the direction of the TARDIS, but Vortigern’s men were between him and his ship and he had probably worn out his welcome with the current High King. Besides, he had to babysit two interdimensional warriors fate had landed in this time and place, one of whom carried a sword which would embroil Earth in a war and cost him his life. With a sigh, the Doctor followed the interdimensional visitors, hoping he could rewrite the ending to this story.


	3. Pendragon

Arthur led the way through the forest. Behind him, the Doctor laid a hand on Ancelyn’s arm.

“How did Arthur get the sword from Morgaine?” he asked quietly.

Ancelyn’s good-natured face darkened. “I know not the details of their last meeting.”

“What do you know?”

The blond knight tossed his hair back over his shoulder and eyed the Doctor closely. “Arthur is a just and honourable king. What he did, he did for his people.”

Which sounded like justification for something not just or honourable. The Doctor raised one thick grey eyebrow.

Ahead of them, Arthur’s low voice just reached their ears. “To my shame, I did nay win it by besting her in single combat. I was aware I would not win.”

“If you had lost, we would all have lost.” Ancelyn’s tone was earnest. “You stopped her when none other could hope for so fortunate an outcome.”

“What happened?” asked the Doctor.

Arthur ran a hand through his dark curls and sighed. He laid the flat of the sword across his forearm and stroked the red jewel with his thumb. “Morgaine saved the universe with this sword. She vanquished the destroyer of worlds, chained it like a pet hunting dog. The Thirteen Worlds crowned her their ruler and her people, the Strax, were hailed as keepers of the peace. I stood in awe of her strength and her beauty and I was honoured when she chose me to lead her forces. Her son was too young to be Knight General, though I doubt Morgaine would be foolish enough to allow Mordred to assume a position of such responsibility among her troops. I stood at Morgaine’s side as she went looking for more worlds to save. I looked the other way when she stopped asking if they desired her protection.” He slid the blade back into its sheath and led them further into the forest. “Then I betrayed her.”

Ancelyn’s blond brow furrowed. “You are no traitor. You merely did as your people asked. We wanted our freedom from Morgaine’s protection.” He turned to the Doctor. “When Arthur delivered our demand for independence, Morgaine refused.” He glanced at the tall back of the dark-haired man leading them and lowered his voice. “She offered Arthur a chance to rule at her side.”

The Doctor looked at Arthur. “Couldn’t you have protected your people with that power?”

“I could have given them anything but their freedom,” Arthur said softly. “As long as Morgaine held Excalibur, she was invincible. And she still controlled the Destroyer, though she had vowed never to use that creature against another world.”

The Doctor’s next question was forestalled when Arthur stopped and raised one hand to halt their progress.

In a clearing ahead stood four men. The three dressed in boiled leather armour raised their weapons; two crossbows and one sword with a curved blade. The fourth was unarmed. He had sandy hair, a patchy beard, and was of medium stature. The Doctor thought he had seen the man before.

Arthur and Ancelyn put their hands on their lasers but the Doctor stepped between them and the men with crossbows and sword, hands spread wide. “No more fighting.”

The one with the curved blade snickered. The unarmed man waved him off and the soldier fell silent.

The sandy-haired man looked Arthur up and down. “You fought Vortigern’s men.”

“We did,” Arthur said.

“My enemy’s enemy would be a valuable ally.”

Arthur’s hand did not leave Excalibur’s hilt. “I would know your quarrel with those who attacked us.”

“We serve Ambrosius, rightful High King, and his brother Uther Pendragon. They seek to reclaim their just and lawful heritage from the usurper and free this land from his tyranny.”

“You seek the freedom of your people?”

“We do.”

“Then we gladly join you in your honourable cause.” Arthur placed his fist over his chest and gave the man a courteous nod.

Ancelyn immediately did the same.

“I am called Arthur, and my Knight General here is Ancelyn.”

The sandy-haired man returned their salute. “My name is Bedwyr. This is Cerdic, Bors, and Ban.”

At his gesture, the three in boiled-leather armour lowered their weapons.

The Doctor frowned at Arthur. “You are quick to choose sides in a dispute so far removed from your world.”

“My best service to my people is to remain in exile with the weapon that enslaved them. Are you not a traveler yourself, cut off from your own people, quick to find a cause to champion?” Arthur’s lips twitched upward and his blue-eyed gaze fixed on the Doctor. “You are not of this world any more than I, of that I am certain.”

“You are Merlin the Enchanter,” Bedwyr said. “You were with Vortigern.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said. “We had a nice visit, engineered some tunnels.”

“I had the honour of being present to hear your speech,” the sandy-haired Bedwyr continued. “Vortigern’s prophet they are calling you; said you saved the tower from falling and then prophesied Ambrosius’s return and Vortigern’s fall.”

“Prophesied might not be the word,” the Doctor said.

The man watched him closely. “Do you give your allegiance to Vortigern or to Ambrosius?”

“Neutral.”

Bedwyr frowned, his sandy brows knitted in his sun-browned face.

“Come, Merlin.” Arthur gave the Doctor a punch in the arm that made the grey-haired man wince. “Let us accompany these new allies in our fight against tyranny and injustice.”

***

 

Three days later, the Doctor’s escorts lifted the flap of his tent. He sighed at the indication that Ambrosius had more questions but got to his feet and followed the two soldiers through the camp. Everywhere he looked, men moved purposefully and ignored the sticky mud that weighed down their boots. Soldiers drilled with disciplined order while others took care of provisions or cleaned and sharpened weapons; no one was idle or unsure of his next task.

Ambrosius’s army was well-equipped and well-trained. It was small wonder he would be successful against the man who had murdered Ambroisus’s and Uther’s elder brother and stolen the throne. Vortigern’s own troops were not half as dedicated and his alliance with the Saxons was shaky despite his marriage to Rowena.

The Doctor wished the Pendragons well but he was tired of Ambrosius’s repetitive queries. Even if his time at the ill-fated tower had given him information about Vortigern and the Saxons valuable to their enemies, the Doctor had no intention of involving himself in Earth politics and wars.

He wondered if he should make his way back to the TARDIS and leave the two interdimensional travelers and their new allies behind. Except Arthur had the stolen sword and refused to allow it out of his sight. Morgaine would not give up her quest to retrieve Excalibur, nor would she walk away from her plan to conquer Earth and whatever nearby worlds she decided were worthy of conquest. It was possible both wars would become mixed up together if the latest rumours about her alliance with Vortigern were true.

The Doctor followed his escort to the tent in the centre of camp. This one was not as large as Vortigern’s, done in red-and-white striped cloth with red dragons embroidered on each white panel and a white banner with a red dragon atop the tent’s peak. It was dim and smoky inside lit by dozens of candles in multi-branched stands.

Seated on a tall wooden chair painted plain white but decorated with red-and-white striped cushions was a man with Roman features, serious brown eyes, and sun-darkened skin. Ambrosius was in deep conversation with Arthur and Ancelyn. All three looked up at the Doctor’s arrival.

“Merlin.” Ancelyn greeted the Doctor with a warm grin.

Before he had time to respond, the tent flap behind the Doctor opened again and a solemn-looking Uther Pendragon appeared. He resembled his brother, except with a white scar cutting across one cheek.

Ambrosius motioned both newcomers to join the interdimensional knights in a circle around his chair. The Doctor folded his hands across his chest, biting back his impatience and hoping for news about Morgaine.

Uther gave him a sideways glance before facing his brother. “It is confirmed, a knight with dark hair and mustache and weapons like our allies here has joined with Vortigern.”

“The strength of his forces?” Ambrosius asked.

“He has two score warriors with him.”

Arthur and Ancelyn exchanged a significant look.

“Is Morgaine with them?” Arthur asked.

Uther frowned. “The copper-haired warrior queen? Yes, the sorceress has employed her dark arts to appear within their ranks at will. They say her power is great.”

“Ah, but we have Merlin.” Ancelyn winked at the Doctor.

Uther glanced at the Doctor. “Who is responsible for nothing more deadly than building a tower wall and prophesying what had already happened.”

“Yet he knew our ships had landed within two days of that event, despite being nearly to the western seashore,” Ambrosius said. “No messenger could have travelled so fast. Do not doubt his powers.”

“Communication is far more powerful than weapons,” the Doctor said with a glare at Uther. Then his eyes riveted on Excalibur in its sheath on Arthur’s hip. “The scabbard is worth ten of the sword.”

All eyes turned to the Doctor in puzzlement.

“May I borrow that?” he asked.

Arthur frowned. “My sword?”

“No, what good would that do?” The Doctor rolled his eyes. “The scabbard, can I borrow your scabbard?”

Arthur exchanged a glance with Ambrosius, then untied the scabbard from around his waist, unsheathed the sword, and handed the scabbard to the Doctor. Ambrosius watched with curiosity, Uther with impatience.

The Doctor removed his sonic and fiddled with the scabbard. “This is meant to be a receiver but with a small adjustment, it can be used to send as well. If I send a sufficiently broad signal, chances are it will reach her. There may be other alien devices within range but the chance of being on the same channel is five hundred and seven to one. Ah, there.” He grasped the scabbard in one hand and shut his eyes. “Morgaine.” Nothing. “Hear me, Morgaine.”

For several heartbeats there was nothing, then a slight crackle indicated another device had come online.

“Merlin, is it. How clever,” came Morgaine’s silky tones.

“I am giving you one more warning, leave this dimension.”

Her laugh was genuinely amused. “Afraid to face me in battle?”

“Would it make a difference if I told you I know how this story ends?” the Doctor asked.

“The future is always in motion. Do not presume me to be ignorant or foolish.”

The timelord was glad she could not see him grit his teeth in annoyance at her perception. No, she was not foolish. Occasionally reckless, but not foolish.

“I will not leave this place without the property that is mine, nor will I leave without that which will become mine through right of conquest.” There was a brief pause before Morgaine’s voice continued. “This place is not your home, Merlin, this battle need not concern you. No honour would be lost to you should you choose to leave.”

“Understand me, Morgaine, this place is protected.” The Doctor’s fist clenched tightly around the scabbard he held straight in front of himself.

“Then, Merlin, we will meet on the field of battle.”

The crackle ended and the Doctor looked thoughtfully at the scabbard before he turned to Ambrosius. “Do you know where the battle will take place?”

The would-be king nodded. “At Baden.”

The Doctor looked at Arthur. “We need to get to your ship, retrieve the stone, and move it to the battlefield.”

Arthur’s brows raised. “The strength of two men can barely move it from the ship and you wish to move it many leagues?”

“We cannot spare men for such a ridiculous errand,” Uther said. The scar on his cheek was pulled down by his frown.

“Will it aid us in the coming battle?” Ambrosius asked over Uther’s protests. His stern brown eyes were fixed on the Doctor.

“It will send Morgaine and her troops away,” the Doctor said.

Ambrosius nodded. “Then let it be done.”

***

 

Trumpets sounded. Those in the central command tent – Ambrosius, Uther, Arthur, Ancelyn, and the Doctor – glanced up when a soldier threw back the flap and looked to his leader. Ambrosius nodded and stood, already fully dressed for battle. A white cape fluttered at his shoulders with a dragon crest stitched in red, flames spouting from its jaw. His brother went to his side and Arthur and Ancelyn moved to do the same.

“Wait with Merlin,” Ambrosius ordered Arthur. “We will engage Vortigern. When the knight you call Mordred appears or the sorceress queen, you will face them down.”

“But,” Ancelyn began, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Arthur waved his Knight General back. “Yes, Sire.”

Arthur gave a nod of respect to Ambrosius which was acknowledged in return, then the two brothers strode from the tent to lead their army against the High King who had stolen their throne.

Ancelyn looked expectantly at the Doctor, his blue eyes bright, and he tossed his head to throw his long, blond hair back over his shoulders. He and Arthur were once again dressed in the chainmail spacesuits they had arrived in and both carried their silver helmets.

“Do we wait with the stone?” Ancelyn asked.

“Yes.” The Doctor looked pointedly at the sword strapped to Arthur’s waist. “We’ll need that.”

Arthur laid a hand on the hilt. “Of course. My blade is at your service.”

“Not for fighting.”

Arthur lifted his dark-bearded chin and crossed his arms over his chest. “I will wield my sword with honour in the battle.”

“The sword is the control module, it needs to remain in the field generator until we have transported Morgaine, Mordred, and their army forward in time to meet their destinies.” And avert Arthur’s.

“Excalibur cannot go with her.”

“Agreed,” the Doctor said. The sword would wait in the stone until its appointed time.

Arthur uncrossed his arms and gave a slight nod.

Ambrosius’s camp had emptied of soldiers, but healers prepared the emergency dressing station and those whose duty it was to remove the wounded from the field behind the army’s advance readied themselves.

Not far away, the stamping of horses’ hooves on rocky ground, of booted feet running, of drums and trumpets, and of hundreds of shouts came from the battlefield stretching north from the encampment across the flat ground. Sunlight flashed from raised weapons not yet bloodied and armour not yet stained with gore. A breeze moved across the field, lifting the standards which marked the presence of the royal leaders: a white dragon on a gold background and a red dragon on a white background.

The Doctor led the way from the tent to the table-sized stone which had been removed from Arthur’s ship by Mordred’s knights and had now been relocated to the encampment. Ambrosius’s men had also brought the TARDIS to the camp and the Doctor was relieved to have transport and backup close to hand.

The large, square field generator which looked like a stone had been placed at the edge of the camp closest to the battlefield. Those with duties behind the lines gave it curious glances as they rushed past on errands between the camp and the field of combat. When the Doctor, Arthur, and Ancelyn reached it, the Doctor held out his hand for Excalibur.

Slowly, Arthur withdrew the sword and laid the flat of the blade across his palm. “It is the finest sword I have held.”

“Yes, yes.” Impatiently, the Doctor snatched it by the red-jeweled hilt and thrust it into the slot at the top of the generator. The red jewel remained dark. The Doctor withdrew his sonic and began tampering with the settings on the sword’s golden hilt.

The noise from the battlefield grew as the armies met and blended, cries of pain crowding out the battle shouts.

“There!” Ancelyn pointed to a group of enemy knights led by one with a horsehair plume on his helmet standing at the far edge of the battle.

The Doctor took note of their position and adjusted the sword again.

Across the battlefield, Mordred and his knights watched the combat. When the dark knight’s gaze locked on the two silver-helmeted men beside the Doctor, Mordred raised his sword and his soldiers stood to attention behind him. With a shout, they charged across the battlefield in Arthur’s direction. Two drew their lasers, firing as they ran, and Arthur and Ancelyn dived for cover even while both drew their own lasers and fired back.

The Doctor used the sonic to activate Excalibur. The red jewel began pulsing with an inner light.

White beams of light from the laser pistols flashed back and forth between the extra-dimensional combatants even as sword strikes, axe blows, and arrows were exchanged between the two armies beside them.

When Mordred’s knights were close enough, they drew their swords and leapt to engage Ancelyn. With a shout, the Knight General drew his own blade and rushed forward to meet the onslaught.

Arthur’s hand instinctively grabbed for his sword hilt, grunted at the reminder that it was now embedded in the stone, and flexed his hand instead. He watched as a few of Ambrosius’s soldiers raced to Ancelyn’s side and engaged Mordred’s men.

The red jewel pulsed and the Doctor smiled. As Ancelyn crossed blades with one of Mordred’s knights, another saw an opportunity to run him through, but was blocked by one of Ambrosius’s soldiers. Dispatching his own opponent, Ancelyn turned to see his rescuer clutch his side and fall at the feet of another silver-helmeted knight.

A white glow surrounded the golden hilt of Excalibur, emanating from the rock.

Four of Mordred’s knights engaged Ancelyn and Ambrosius’s soldiers. Arthur’s gaze darted between his loyal knight and the red-jeweled sword hilt sticking up from the field generator. Then his hand clenched the hilt and drew out the sword before he shouted a battle cry and raced toward the battle.

“What are you –” the Doctor began.

The white glow spread from the stone to encompass Mordred’s knights.

Ancelyn fell back and looked toward the Doctor. The Doctor ran for the TARDIS. Ancelyn followed the Doctor.

Mordred saw them go but was helpless to act as the white glow surrounded them and they vanished.

The soldier Arthur had defended fell back in shock, but Arthur shouted victoriously and raced toward the battle raging on the field. With a last look back at the place his adversaries had vanished from, the soldiers followed Arthur.


	4. King Arthur

The Doctor threw open the door of the TARDIS and rushed to the console. He yanked the screen toward him and activated several controls on the panel. Ancelyn froze inside the door, staring around in awe.

“It is bigger within than it is without,” he said.

The Doctor did not spare him a glance. “Hold on.”

The door to the TARDIS slammed closed and the entire ship shook violently. Ancelyn grabbed the nearest handhold. The Doctor grabbed the console. In a breath, the bright light in the centre column came to rest and the ship stopped shaking.

The Doctor threw open the door and stared out. They were at the edge of the wide expanse of field where the battle had raged a moment before, but no one was in sight.

Ancelyn stepped out behind the Doctor. “Where are we?”

“In the same time as Mordred and his knights, but apparently not in the same place. It must have relocated them as well as sending them forward in time 15 years instead of 1500 years.” Because that brave and noble idiot had pulled the sword out too soon.  Now the Doctor had to track down the interdimensional visitors and then come up with another way to remove them before Morgaine and Mordred and their soldiers spread their empire across the planet and beyond.

“A ship of time?” Ancelyn turned back to regard the blue box with wonder.

The Doctor raced back inside and consulted the display once more. When he dashed outside again and slammed the door behind him, Ancelyn remained staring at the TARDIS.

“Alien technology this way.” The Doctor pointed toward a hilltop as he held a small box with a spinning propeller on top and a light flashing alternately purple and blue.

As he raced away, he heard Ancelyn’s heavy footfalls catching up. He headed away from the battlefield, up the wooded slope, the light now flashing more purple than blue while the propeller spun faster.

What came into view was not a collection of tents as the Doctor had expected, but a fortified castle perched on a hilltop and ringed entirely by a wall three times the height of a man. A collection of buildings huddled together outside the main gates of the fortress and a city nestled inside the wall bustling with commerce.

The Doctor and Ancelyn joined the steady stream of pedestrians, hand carts, and wagons heading toward the main citadel gates with produce, cloth, and tools. A guard at the gate frowned at Ancelyn’s battle dress, but the push of the crowd swept them toward an open marketplace crammed with buyers and sellers.

Before they could do more than gaze around once, five armed guards surrounded them, spears pointed at their chests.

“Declare yourself.”

“I am Ancelyn, Knight General to Arthur, and this is Merlin.”

“Merlin!” The two guards closest to the Doctor fell back a step, eyes wide beneath the helms that covered their hair, ears, and noses.

Their leader narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. “So, Merlin has returned.” He gestured to the other four guards. “Take them to the High King.”

The Doctor wondered if Vortigern was on the throne still or if Ambrosius had now unseated him and taken back his crown. It was even possible that enough time had passed that Ambroisus’s brother, Uther, was now king. Whoever it was had alien technology near to hand. Mordred and his troops had landed in this time and approximately this place not long ago, or the tracking device may have honed in on Arthur if he survived the last battle and still had the sword.

They were shown into a throne room where a dark-haired man was seated on a tall chair at the head of the cavernous room, a crown on his head. His eyes fell on them and widened.

Ancelyn stared in surprise, then both smiled widely and the king rose to accept his Knight General’s deep bow before they clasped arms and patted each other on the back.

“Ancelyn, it does my eyes good to see you once more.”

“And you, Arthur.”

The king stepped back to regard his blond knight. “You have not changed during your long absence, and still dressed for battle?”

Ancelyn frowned. “Long absence? It has been but a moment.”

“It has been fifteen winters since I last laid eyes on you during the battle at Baden,” Arthur said. “But this must be Merlin’s work.” The king turned to the Doctor. “Merlin, I must relay to you our deepest gratitude for having vanquished Mordred and his knights.”

“You might want to save that for later,” the Doctor said. “They are here now.”

***

 

From his seat at the round table in the council chamber, Arthur regarded the Doctor thoughtfully. He glanced toward Ancelyn who merely shrugged.

“So your plan did not entirely work?” Arthur asked.

“It would have except you pulled out the sword and interrupted the process.” The Doctor gave a disgusted look at the sword sheathed at the king’s side. “How did you get to be king?”

Arthur smiled. “The tales be true, that the one who wields Excalibur will vanquish any enemy he faces in battle. Before Uther passed away, he named me his successor. Although his nobles protested that I was no blood relation and could not establish my lineage, the soldiers insisted I was the rightwise king. It also helped that I had this at my side in battle.” Arthur removed the laser from his holster and smiled sadly at it. “But its power has now faded and there is no source to recharge it from.”

“Here, Sire.” Ancelyn withdrew his own laser and offered it to the king.

Before Arthur could accept it, the Doctor snatched it from Ancelyn’s hand, hooked the sonic in the side charging port, and disabled the weapon permanently. “I hate guns.”

“Ah, Merlin, you have not changed,” Arthur said.

“What happened to Ambrosius?”

“Once he defeated Vortigern and reclaimed the crown of the High King, he died and passed the throne to his brother. He is buried with honour in the place of the Standing Stones.”

The Doctor shuddered at mention of Stonehenge. “There wasn’t by chance a Roman centurion standing guard around there, was there?”

Arthur looked at him in surprise. “I am told the last Roman left this land a generation ago.”

Before the Doctor could reply, a woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Merlin.”

All three focused on the communication link projected above the round table.

“I know you have returned, Merlin. I have been waiting. Face me if you dare.”

The transmission ended.

Arthur’s face hardened as he stared into the now-empty space above the round table. “She is here.”

“Mordred and his soldiers are also here in this time, but I don’t know where. They’ll come for the sword.”

“Their ally, Vortigern, has been utterly vanquished and the Saxons we have held at bay these many years.” Arthur straightened in his chair. “I have an army at my back now to stop Mordred.”

“What of Morgaine?” the Doctor asked.

The king’s shoulders slumped. “She will not stop. Perhaps … perhaps I should do as you said and return Excalibur to her hand.”

The Doctor shook his head. “It’s too late to placate her. She’ll use it to conquer Earth and whatever territory she chooses in your dimension and mine.”

“What do we do?”

“How did Morgaine locate your ship after you crossed to this dimension?”

Arthur sighed. “She must have connected with the sword, I fear it may not be hidden from her.”

“Where is the field generator?”

“In the ice caves.”

“Where are the ice caves?”

“In the cliff below Vortigern’s tower, where you had one of the tunnels dug,” Arthur said. “They say you enchanted the cave and have dwelt there unseen these many years, changing your shape at will.”

“Ridiculous rumour.” The Doctor drummed his fingers on the table. “I need to remove Mordred and his troops from this place, which means using the sword and the generator to relocate them without further interruption.” He glared at the king. “However, Morgaine must know what happened to her army at the last battle. She will prevent us from triggering the generator this time.” He smiled when the obvious answer struck. “I’ll tell her where to find the stone. Then I will meet her in these ice caves.”

“You will face Morgaine while we meet her troops on the battlefield?” Ancelyn asked.

“Yes,” the Doctor said.

“But how will we activate the stone if she knows where it is?”

“We need to protect the sword until the last moment when all is ready, then activate the generator and send her soldiers forward to the time of restitution.” The Doctor looked at Ancelyn. “Say hello to Brigadier Bamberra for me.”

He tossed his long, blond hair back, blue eyes alight. “A warrior?”

“Yes.”

“I look forward to facing him in battle,” Ancelyn said.

“She does, too, I’m certain,” the Doctor said. He smiled at the memory.

***

From the site of the half-built tower where he had first entered events in this century, the Doctor surveyed the grassy plain between the woodlands and the lake below. The white bulk of Arthur’s ship lay on the shoreline, between the two armies facing each other across the expanse of ground. Morgaine’s troops had their laser guns and grenades, but the Britons had crossbows and arrows which were equally effective at a distance after which the knights would be close enough to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Then the Britons’ greater numbers would give them an advantage, not that the Doctor intended the fight to last long. However, the battle below would not involve him. Morgaine was waiting.

The Doctor turned away from the cliff’s edge and took the path leading to the ice caves. The temperature dropped several degrees as he stepped into the shaded interior of the cave. The rock walls were damp and tiny stones shifted underfoot.

She stood in front of a block of stone the size of a table, just far enough into the cave’s interior that sunlight from outside barely illuminated her figure. Her copper body armour was in the form of a long gown this time, its trailing skirt dusty from the cave floor, and she wore a shimmering cape with the copper crown on her long red hair. Suspended above her outstretched left hand with its long, copper-painted nails was a white ball lit from within. The glow shone on her face from below her chin, casting her face into an odd shadow.

“Morgaine,” the Doctor said by way of greeting.

“Merlin, you have come to face me.” She tipped her head slightly. “You do know that I have the means to destroy this world utterly and all those around.”

The Doctor gave a slight nod. “The Destroyer.”

“I will not use it,” Morgaine said. “Did you know that as well? The Destroyer is no honourable way to do battle. That is why I used Excalibur to defeat it and lock it away where it cannot wreak further devastation.”

“I know,” the Doctor said. He kept his gaze locked on hers.

She had shown her sense of honour and nobility once before, though not before she had let loose an instrument of pure destruction. It had nearly been the death of a man he admired, idiot that he was.

“So we continue our game of chess.” Morgaine smiled. “You move your king, I move my queen, and we both put forward our knights. Do you wish to see the battle?”

Her long-fingered right hand moved over the glowing white ball she held in front of her and a picture formed of soldiers in chainmail and boiled-leather armour slashing at each other under bright sunlight. There was no sound, no smell, only the sight of the combat taking place not far from where they stood in the dim cave.

“Arthur fights well,” she said.

The Doctor heard a note of admiration in her voice.

“He may yet be victorious over Mordred and my soldiers, though you have Excalibur.” Morgaine regarded the Doctor with a small smile.

Slowly, he drew it from beneath his red-lined coat.

“You have not brought it online and I stand between you and the generator. What is your plan to get past me, Merlin?”

“I told you, I know how this story ends.”

“Yes, you claimed to know the future.”

“I am the future, and the past.”

“The future is yet to be written.”

“Or re-written.” The Doctor regarded Morgaine. She had said she would not loose the Destroyer and she meant it, but she had proved she could be pushed to set aside her principles and unleash destruction in her anger.

“But you will not be there to write it, only to watch.” Morgaine stretched out her hand, long nails pointed at the ground behind the Doctor.

He heard the clank of metal links dragged across rocky ground. Before he could move, a length of chain wound itself over his boots, around his legs, and up his chest.

“Merlin!”

The Doctor looked up to see Ancelyn behind him in the cave, eyes wide and fixed on the copper chain binding the Doctor. Just as the metal curled around his arm, the Doctor tossed Excalibur toward Ancelyn who caught it with ease.

“Run!”

With a pained look back, Ancelyn turned and sprinted from the cave.

Morgaine clasped her hand on empty air and the Doctor’s bonds sparkled and then tightened until the Doctor was encircled, arms and legs bound. She pointed her long nails at the cave’s ceiling to aim a streak of white light at the rock which shuddered and began to fall. One large chunk of stone cracked and dropped, smashing on the cave floor, followed by a shower of rocks until dust clogged the air.

When the noise of the rock fall faded into the last small stones rolling down the huge pile, the cave entrance was completely blocked. Swirling dust outlined the rays from the white globe Morgaine held in her left hand.

“You have lost, Merlin. The sword cannot activate the generator now.” Morgaine glanced over her shoulder at the stone, the light playing across her face as she did.

In the globe’s whiteness, the Doctor saw Ancelyn outside the cave look back in horror and shout. He paused, looking between the collapsed entrance and the battle below, then he sprinted down the steep path toward the lake.

The armies remained locked in combat, silver helmets flashing in the sunlight, bloodied swords moving quickly despite the straining arms under gore-splattered armour.

In front of the smooth, white backdrop of the spaceship, Arthur and a knight exchanged a flurry of sword blows. They parted to circle each other before they came together again, blades moving so quickly they appeared to be a blur. Behind Arthur, a black-garbed knight with a plume of horsehair on top of his silver helmet raised his blade. As Arthur felled his opponent and spun to face the new attacker, Mordred ran him through.

Although they could hear nothing through the white ball, Mordred’s head snapped up as though someone had shouted. He yanked his blade free of Arthur and raised it quickly to face Ancelyn who barrelled into him, knocking him to the ground.

The impact sent Ancelyn to the ground as well, knocking Excalibur from his hand.

Ancelyn gained his feet before Mordred could rise, but Mordred had already brought his blade up. As Mordred stood, Ancelyn drew his own sword and the two faced each other.

Hand pressed against his side to slow the loss of blood, Arthur painfully leaned up and grasped Excalibur, then he crawled toward the ship. A square opening appeared in the smooth white wall.

“What trick is this?” Morgaine said. Her copper brows drew together under the crown. “Why does he take the sword away?”

A white glow came from the ship, reaching out to the interdimensional warriors on the battlefield. Ancelyn and Mordred crossed blades as the white surrounded them. Then they were gone; Ancelyn, Mordred, all of Mordred’s soldiers.

“What have you done?” Morgaine turned to the Doctor. “How could you –”

She spun and stretched a hand toward the rectangular stone behind her. Her copper brows snapped together beneath the tall points of the crown. “This is not the generator. It has been returned to Arthur’s ship.” A smile curved her lips. “Well played, Merlin. But you must know I can locate my troops again and Excalibur as well.” Her long-fingered hand with its pointed, copper-coloured nails waved across the white ball.

A streak of bright white materialized in a blue sky and then plummeted to the soft ground of a wooded hill near a lake. Several more streaks of blazing white followed to land not far away. with a triumphant smile, Morgaine vanished.

The Doctor gripped his screwdriver with the fingers of his right hand and manoeuvered his thumb to press against its side. There was a soft hum and the copper chains tightened instead of loosened. Clearly, the wrong setting.

He wiggled to ease the pressure on his chest so he could breathe and then ran his thumb along the side again. This time the chains eased their grip and he sucked in a breath with a nostalgic pang for a skinnier, earlier self.

When he had wriggled out of the copper links binding him he turned to regard the pile of rock sealing the cave entrance, coughing at the dust hanging in the air. The sonic would not help him through that mess. He would have to hope the drainage ditch was still accessible after fifteen years. The concrete-lined tunnel would last, but the openings into what had been an underground lake beneath Vortigern’s tower were only rocky dirt. There was a good chance they had collapsed.

The Doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. A map to the tunnels would be one of the most recent files.

Luckily, he only had to backtrack once. His boots were caked with dark grey mud and a few rocks had worked their way inside to irritate his left foot but he emerged from the drainage tunnel right beside the white hulk of King Arthur’s ship.

The field stretching from the lake to the woods was empty of soldiers. Most likely the Britons had fled when their enemy vanished in a flash of light taking their wounded with them. At least it would make for a good story.

The opening in the shiny white side of the ship gaped like another dark tunnel. The Doctor pocketed his sunglasses and moved toward the opening.

Excalibur’s hilt stood up from the rectangle of stone, its red jewel dark. Arthur was draped across the stone, one hand stretched forward where he had driven the sword into the generator and one hand pressed against his bloody side. His blue eyes were open and staring but breath still rattled in his throat.

“Be they gone?” He blinked up at the Doctor.

“Yes.”

“My people in both dimensions, they are safe.” His eyelids drooped closed again. “Morgaine cannot track Excalibur when it is offline.”

“No.” The Doctor looked at the red jewel, dark and silent. It would remain so for a long time, though not forever, but the future was in the hands of his past now.

Arthur’s breath gurgled in his chest.

“We need to get you to a healer.” The amount of blood indicated he may not be able to save this person this time. His fist tightened. “You’re not going to die. I’ll –”

The rattling breaths stopped.

“No!” the Doctor shouted.

His voice echoed around the control room, empty now except for the stone with the sword embedded and the man with dark, curly hair slumped across it.

Slowly, the Doctor bent to retrieve Arthur’s silver helmet from the floor. He needed to leave a message. Then he needed to ensure that no one disturbed the king’s resting place, not for many long centuries. The legends would say he was destined to return, and that hope would be preserved.

His work done, the Doctor stepped outside the ship. He aimed his screwdriver at the ship and the door sealed, leaving only a smooth, white shell half buried in the soft mud at the edge of a lake. Then he made his way up the steep path to the clifftop that overlooked the water where three ruined rock walls partially enclosed the open area. The Doctor knelt beside one of the openings to the concrete tunnels that led down to the shore and carved into a rock with curling Gallifreyan script: Dig Hole Here.


End file.
